Guardian of the Hallows (rewrite)
by writer chickie
Summary: The four Hallows of Ireland are reunited in New York when an old friend comes calling. (Sara / Ian, Orig / Orig)
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Don't own the comic book, anime or TV series basically all I own is the computer this was typed on and the way the ideas on the page are put together.

Artistic License Note: The way I depict the Hollows of Ireland and the Tuatha De Danann is almost completely different than the way Irish / Celtic mythology depicts them. They are an actual part of Irish / Celtic Mythology connected to the Tuatha De Danann and also possibly connected to the Thirteen Treasures of Britain. This is a link to an article talking about them that I found while researching them for this chapter:  wiki/Four_Treasures , it also appears to be the most widely accepted description of them.

Author's Note: This is a rewrite of the original story and as such there will be elements that remain the same even as many change. Originally I had intended to make this more of a romance novel type story but the truth is I can't write anything like that without turning an unflattering shade of red and I don't write it well so I know when to stop. Also while I am attempting to rewatch the entire series I work a lot, and as such I think I may just take some general ideas and play with them rather than base this on the series. Also I truthfully have no idea where this story is going, normally I can at least come up with a general outline of the story but right now all I managed to write down is "Sara punches Dante before cuffing him" so it will be a surprise for us all. Also I am my own beta…so I try to catch everything but often times it will flow in my head or I'll miss all the spots where spell check sees a valid word that doesn't fit with the rest of the sentence, if it's horribly bad at any point let me know and I'll do my best to re-edit.

Guardian of the Hallows

Prologue

In a time before record there existed a people called the Tuatha De Danann. They were an extraordinary people gifted in the ways of mysticism, marking them as different from those they lived among. They walked a path between two worlds, the world of the living and the world of the dead, seeing both sides and hearing both voices. For most mortals that alone would be enough to begin a decent into madness, however for many of the Tuatha De Danna it was merely one of several gifts. Fate gave some Tuatha De Danann the gift of healing, others the gift of hindsight thru touch and still others the ability to foresee that which had yet to happen. These abilities caused the Tuatha De Danann to be both shunned and sought out.

For more years than the Tuatha De Danann thought to count they lived in harmony with those around them, using their "other worldly" abilities to ease the lives of those they lived among. They healed the sick, settled disputes, eased the minds of those whose loved ones had died and warned their neighbors about the dangers they foresaw. However there was born into their time a powerful King, whose name time chose to forget, who united the men and women of the land. With this King's birth the Tuatha De Danann became divided, for the first time in their history, over the matter of whether to kneel to a one not of their blood or to stay on the outside and not interfere.

Ultimately it was the division of the Tuatha De Danann that led to their end. When the Tuatha De Danann supporters joined those following the King they gave him a taste of the power he would have at his disposal should all of the Tuatha De Danann follow him. This taste of power led to an addiction to power that tore the land apart. In his arrogance he demanded the council of the Tuatha De Danann disband and all Tuatha De Danann kneel before him as his subjects. The council sat in deliberation for many weeks trying to find a solution to the King's demands. For as long as their history could recall they had never knelt before a King that wasn't Tuatha De Danann, they had never allowed them selves to become involved in the politics of their more human cousins.

As the Tuatha De Danann sat in council seeking an answer, the King grew impatient and began to gather his army to him. In his power addled mind there laid a thought that once upon a time would have been immediately dismissed as wrong or unethical, but was now nurtured until it became his reason for being. If the Tuatha De Danann would not kneel before him and acknowledge him as their King then he vowed they could no longer be allowed to draw breath, for alive they were a threat to his authority and power, a threat to his rule.

Among the Tuatha De Danann the most respected group of all was those with the gift of foresight. It was that group and their gift that had allowed the Tuatha De Danann to survive so many generations in world of chaos. As the council debated and the King planned, a young woman with the gift of foresight has a glimpse of what was to befall the Tuatha De Danann as well as the mortals that lived under the banner of the King. Her vision was of chaos and death, with neither the Tuatha De Danann nor the King surviving the conflict that was set to occur. While most would have thought to change the circumstances leading to the vision the young woman knew better. While they had the ability to foresee what would happen the cruelest twist of fate allowed for no intervention, to intervene had been shown to cause worse things to happen. Instead the young woman called forth the Tuatha De Danann's three most talented craftsmen and commissioned them to each created an artifact to stand against the darkness she knew would come. Each artifact once crafted was infused with a certain amount of "magic" to protect it and to protect the one's chosen to fight against the darkness set to take hold of the land, and without the knowledge of the makers a portion of their temperament which would come to define each artifact through history.

From Falias in the North came the Stone of Fal, Lia Fail, or Stone of Destiny in the form of ring. Once created it was infused with its maker's gift of foresight, allowing the wearer a glimpse into what could be as well as his strength and compassion, allowing for good judgment in the face of adversity as well as the ability to spot the truth in any lie.

From Gorias in the East came the Lance of Lugh or Spear of Destiny. Infused with its maker's gift of hindsight, it allowed it's wielder to see all that was significant in a person's past. The lance also took from its maker a temper as fiery as the forge it was created it, and a tendency for rash and harsh judgment and an ability to strike at an opponent's weakest spot.

From Murias in the south came the Cauldron of the Dagda or Cauldron of Destiny. Infused with its maker's healing gift it granted its wielder the ability to heal the injured and depending on the purity of motive revive the dead. From its maker came a depth of compassion as deep as it's never ending waters and the inner strength to know when to let go and when to fight.

As the 3 craftsmen completed their task the young woman finished hers as well. In Finias, the south, she crafted the Sword of Nuada or Fragarach, the Answerer. As the craftsmen had she infused it with her gift, only unlike the craftsmen she had more than one. She was a rarity among the Tuatha De Danann for she carried all the gifts that their kind was blessed with and so the sword granted its wielder access to all the gifts the Tuatha De Danann had, both good and bad.

Weakened from the crafting of the sword the young woman knew her time was running out and sought to get the artifacts into their destined hands. Time proved short, for not long after she gave artifacts into their wielder's care the King attacked, killing all he found. Though the Tuatha De Danann were his true target the King's rage grew to include all that would not kneel before him all that he believed slighted him, and he slaughtered the majority of the county he had united, bringing to pass the young woman's vision.

In their wielders hand the artifacts were safe, but in a war torn land there is little to keep a person safe, and so the artifacts passed from champion to champion, the mystery of they creation and purpose growing with each generation, until they like the people who had created them were immortalized in the myths of the county where they had been created. But what no myth ever showed was that with each generation the artifacts changed and grew. The power that had infused them, making them almost sentient with personalities as unique as those that had created them and those who had wielded them.

Of the 4 artifacts the Sword of Nuada or Fragarach, became the most known. It's appearances in the history of the world in the hand of a woman causing it to be called the Witchblade. With tastes as fickle as a cat it allowed for false wielders as well as true wielders, unlike the Lance of Lugh which while virtually unknown would often drive even a true wielder to madness should its wielders motives become anything less than pure. The Stone of Fal and the Cauldron of Dagda slipped out of sight, quiet counterparts to the most powerful weapons to ever be created. For thru some trick of fate the four artifacts had divided themselves into two paired groups, the Sword of Nuada and the Stone of Fal, and the Lance of Lugh and the Cauldron of the Dagda. Each could function alone but were stronger together, though through history there was never another time recorded when all four artifacts were seen together at one time, the more dangerous the time the more artifacts spotted but up until now the four never reunited.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own the comic book, anime or TV series basically all I own is the computer this was typed on and the way the ideas on the page are put together.

Author's Note: My original intention wasn't to rewrite the premise of this story, but then I realized that even as I was originally writing it I had no idea who I was going to cast as a bad guy. I still don't truly know who it is going to be but I at least have a better idea this time around. Hopefully there are no glaring errors, if there are just let me know.

Song choice while writing this chapter – Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons.

Guardian of the Hallows

Chapter 1

Everyday people are confronted with choices, ranging from the mundane coffee or tea; to the more serious of, to kill Kenneth Irons or wait for nature to catch up and hope it would be with a vengeance now that the Witchblade was once again in the hands of a wielder strong enough to have survived the Pendulum. Look at the photos spread across the desk in front of her, Sorcha tried to objectively see how killing Irons would be a bad idea, but seeing picture after picture of Ian made to stand subservient to Iron's and his petty wants was making her trigger finger itch. Ian Nottingham should have been allowed to grow into the warrior that lived within his soul, and instead Irons had taken and twisted a young boy into a mockery of it, seeking control over the future Witchblade wielder and caring nothing for the collateral damage.

Moving to look out at the early morning light twisting around the lower Manhattan skyline she tried to rebuild her mental resolve to let nature take care of Irons, knowing that any attempt to help nature catch up would in all likelihood result in Ian's death as well given how deep the conditioning to place Iron's life above his own went. So as much as Sorcha wanted to put a bullet in Iron's skull, he would get a reprieve from her, but then if he decided to keep interfering with the hallows she knew he'd be taken care of for her. Crossing Mystical weapons that are basically sentient and that you don't understand is never a good choice, even less so when you are attempting to cheat death, the bookie to end all bookies.

Pushing away from the window and picking up a leather jacket off the bed Sorcha paid no notice to the flash of green light when the sun briefly touched upon her necklace pendant, instead she moved through the room picking up various items before walking out the door and locking it behind her.

From his perch across from the precinct Ian tried to calm the disquiet in his mind. The man he looked to as a Father had installed within him the desire to ensure the safety of the wielder above all other, but lately his orders were beginning to contradict that ideal, leaving him to feel conflicted. Which ideal was he to follow, obedience in all things or the wielder above all? Adding to his disquiet was the memory of a petite redhead naming him "brother" and telling him that his destiny was his and his alone, that it did not depend upon Sara Pezzini, Kenneth Irons, the Witchblade or even her to be fulfilled.

Looking down at the signet ring he wore on his right hand Ian felt a tendril of strength flow into him as he let his vision fade from the present and into the past, specifically the moments before he's walked Sorcha down the aisle on her wedding day. Much to her wedding planner's displeasure she'd sent everyone out of the small office set aside for a bridal room for those brave enough to temp the weather and marry in the untamed beauty of the Garden of Ireland. As soon as the huffing woman had shut the door behind herself Sorcha had taken his hand and called him brother. At first he'd though she meant it as a reference to their shared time in combat, but then she'd slid a signet ring onto his right ring finger and named him brother again.

As soon as the last syllable rolled off her tongue he'd been overwhelmed with the briefest touch of his soul's history, his lifetimes of fighting beside, protecting and loving the wielders of the Witchblade, both true and false. Though the moment had seemed to last a life time, it had ended in a blink of an eye leaving him standing before a knowing Sorcha. They did not speak of the events of that day but over the three years since her wedding she seemed to show up in New York more often and each visit brought forth new layers of confidence in him as Ian learned the truth of the Witchblade's lore and not the twisted truth his Father believed.

The past fading back into the present Ian was loath to believe his eyes as at that moment he spied Sorcha walking through the precinct doors. Though he loved her as the sister he'd never had in this lifetime he knew better than to think he knew the plan behind her actions and now he worried that her motivations had less to do with her professional image as the head of a global security company and everything to do with the Witchblade sitting upon Sara's wrist.

A slower week meant time to catch up on paperwork and dust off the cold cases to see any new leads had appeared. Neither was overly appealing to her with the sense of urgency being projected by the Witchblade, but other than a bracelet version of a lava lamp Sara hadn't gotten anything useful from it for several days.

Sending the Rookie on a coffee run, much to Danny's amusement, she tried to figure out what about one of their more recent cases was nagging at her. Michael White had been in his mid twenties and working as a bodyguard when he'd been stabbed in an attack meant for his socialite charge and had bled out as his charge was rushed to safety by her driver. Initially it had seemed like an easy case, bust the obsessive stalker the bodyguard had been hired to keep away and call it a day, but the stalker had an ironclad alibi in a 48hr nonvoluntary lockdown for psychological evaluation in a state hospital, sedated with enough sedatives to down a draft horse. Each and every suspect was the same, some sort of ironclad alibi and it was getting on her remaining nerve, the Witchblade having claimed the rest. Sara could only hope that when the head of the security firm walked in for her appointment that she'd be able to shed some type of light on how a bodyguard dies protecting a charge who by some miracle is under no threat, all known threats somehow occupied elsewhere and all at the same time.

A printed version of his wife's face filling his gaze, Aidan ran his finger across her face praying once again to make it to New York and find his wife in one piece, before tucking the picture back against his heart. When he'd left to help his sister move their mother from her small cottage outside Dublin and into their Aunt's spare bedroom he'd know that his wife wouldn't wait and that he'd be reduced to chasing her across the Atlantic. And he'd hated it as much then, knowing that she wouldn't take anyone to watch her back despite the unsettling letters showing up at her office.

So here he was trying to calm himself enough to retain his sanity for the length of the transatlantic flight eating up the miles between them and hope that Sorcha had enough sense to call Ian and ask for help. But the knot in his stomach and the deafening screams of his instincts told him she hadn't.


End file.
